


Eye of the Beholder

by house_of_lantis



Category: American Idol RPF, Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Freaky heroin-addict artist who sees the future, Language, M/M, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-01
Updated: 2011-05-01
Packaged: 2017-10-18 20:23:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/192925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/house_of_lantis/pseuds/house_of_lantis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam is an art dealer in NYC and his new client is brilliant but kind of weird. Especially since he keeps showing Adam these bizarre paintings of him and his roommate, Kris, making out. Somedays, he really thinks he should've stayed in LA.</p><p>Based on a prompt by moirariordan for kradamadness Round 10 Heroes. Crossover with the TV show “Heroes” with some familiar characters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eye of the Beholder

**Isaac Mendez’s Reed Street Loft  
New York City**

Adam walked the length of Isaac’s studio, his critical eye looking at every brush stroke, every use of color, and every technique. There was something foreboding in Isaac’s work, like a dark figure standing off in the peripheral, disappearing when you turned your head to look. It reminded Adam of works by Francisco Goya; there was that same subversive and imaginative element in Isaac’s work. He didn’t like to mix colors, often using the paint straight from the tube to the canvas. He smeared the paint with his fingers and hands, but he was able to paint incredible details when he wanted. The common theme in Isaac’s work was a dark realm of fantasy and nightmare. They evoked different kinds of emotions: fear, excitement, sadism, and dark pleasure.

The seven large canvases leaning against the long wall of the loft were impressive and Adam knew exactly where he could place each work.

“They’re brilliant,” he announced, turning to look at Isaac.

The artist grinned at Adam, cleaning his paint brushes. “Thanks.”

“I have a buyer in Oslo who loved your last two pieces,” Adam said, walking towards Isaac. “He’s been dying to meet you but I know you like your privacy.”

Isaac sighed, setting his brushes on the table. “I appreciate that you keep the wolves at bay, Adam.”

“But seriously, there’s only so much that I can do. You do need to make an appearance now and again. I know it’s crap but there’s an expectation for artists like you to mingle with the commoners.”

They shared a look and Isaac laughed, shaking his head. Adam worried about him. Isaac wasn’t just his client, they were friends. He knew the demons that rode Isaac’s back but Adam had to draw a line because he couldn’t allow himself to be sucked into the kind of destructiveness that Isaac carried inside. This was doubly hard for Adam because he saw the beauty in pain; it drew him in, like into a black hole. Adam had spent more than enough time watching a loved one self-destruct.

“I don’t know how you convince me to do these things when we both know I’m awful at it. I can’t stand art critics and pretentious art collectors.”

Adam grinned, looking around the loft and back to Isaac. “They pay your bills.”

And more often than not, they paid for Isaac’s heroin.

“I know. I’m not ungrateful, I’m just…anti-social,” he said, laughing deeply. “Which is why I paint and which is why I have you.”

“Isaac, I’m serious about making an appearance.” He paused, walking closer towards the other man. “And I want you to be sober for it.”

“Don’t you understand that it makes me crazy to be in a room full of those people and be sober? Adam, you’re killing me here.”

Adam grabbed him by the shoulder and looked into his dark eyes. “Isaac, I’m serious. You have to be sober. You can be sober for two hours and that’s all I’ll ask for.”

“Yeah, okay,” Isaac said, shoving a paint-stained hand through his long, wavy hair. “Look, I’ll do a show, but I’ll only do it at your gallery.”

Adam smiled. “Thank you.”

Isaac sighed and rested his forehead against Adam’s shoulder for a moment. “I have something…different to show you.”

That got Adam’s attention. He worked with about a dozen artists permanently and whenever they had something different to show, Adam wanted to have first look. He followed Isaac to the other side of the studio where three large canvases were covered with stained drop cloths.

“They’re kind of…personal,” Isaac said, glancing at Adam.

“I think all of your paintings are personal.”

Isaac gave a soft laugh. “Not like these.” He threw back the drop cloths and walked to stand next to Adam. “What do you think?”

Adam stared at the three paintings. He licked his lips and swallowed thickly, his voice coming out in a raspy whisper. “Holy shit. They’re…really personal.”

“I can’t tell you why I was…compelled to paint these images. It’s like something took hold of me and I just…it was like I _had_ to paint; like I had to tell this story. I didn’t have a choice.”

Adam stared at the paintings. They were all in Isaac’s subversive style, almost kind of like life size comic book panels. In each of them, Adam was…well, he was fucking a very pretty brown haired man. In the first painting, Adam was holding down the young man on the dining room table, his hands wrapped around the other man’s wrists, pinning him to the table surface. They were kissing passionately, the other man’s leg wrapped around Adam’s back, the other curled over Adam’s shoulder.

Adam placed his hand over his mouth. “He’s…flexible.”

Isaac snorted. “That’s what I thought when I saw the finished painting.”

In the second painting, Adam had the same brown haired man bent over the back of the couch. The other man was looking over his shoulder back at Adam, but the expression on his face was pure need, not fear. Adam noted that he had one hand wrapped around the young man’s wrists behind his back. Isaac had painted him with blue eyes that looked like they glowed. It was…monstrous and gorgeous and stunning.

“You know, you are a toppy bastard,” Isaac said, chuckling softly.

Adam made a noise. “This is…I can’t believe…”

“I added glitter to the paint when I did your eyes,” Isaac noted, thoughtfully. “I don’t even own glitter; I must’ve gone out and bought it in the middle of painting this one.”

Adam swallowed, fighting down his arousal. He stared at the third painting and he took a step back, blinking quickly. It was by far his favorite one of the three. In this one, he was on his back in what looked like his living room with the brown haired man sitting astride him, riding him. His head was flung back, every muscle of his body tense, and Adam bit his lip because Isaac had captured that moment right before a man came; it was so obvious that it was going to be explosive.

“How—“ he said, his voice hoarse. He cleared his throat hard. “How do you know the other man?”

“He’s lovely, isn’t he? It seems that he’s perfect for the Adam in the painting.” Isaac pulled out a pack of menthol cigarettes from his shirt pocket and drew it into his mouth. He fished out his lighter and lit the end, inhaling deeply. “I don’t know him. I’ve never met him before in my life.”

“But you painted him as if you knew him…intimately.” Adam stole the cigarette and lighter from Isaac, lighting one for himself. He needed it after looking at the paintings.

“I think I would remember seeing that man’s face,” Isaac said, grinning slightly. “But I honestly don’t remember, Adam. I could’ve been high at the time; I don’t know. And I don’t know why you are in the paintings, either. I know it must be creepy but I honestly don’t remember painting them.”

“I’d like to buy them.”

Isaac grinned, smoke curling out of his mouth. “They’re yours. Consider them a gift, Adam, for being such a good friend to me.”

Adam couldn’t stop staring at the paintings. He stepped closer to the last one, his eyes drawn to the way that the young man’s face showed something like pain in pleasure, the arch of his back, the muscles of his chest, and Adam’s hand curled around the thick cock. Isaac was a genius to be able to capture this moment…a moment that never existed in reality. Adam recognized the young man in the paintings. _Of course he did._ The brown haired man was no stranger to Adam, but he was not a lover, though Adam desired him. The paintings showed Adam’s fantasies, but how would Isaac even know? They were close friends, but not the kind where Adam revealed his sexual fantasies.

And it was strange that Isaac didn’t even ask if Adam knew the brown haired man or not.

He couldn’t wait to get them back to his gallery where he could hang them in his private collections room and stare at them for as long as he wanted.

***

 **The Adam Lambert Gallery**

Adam strolled into his gallery and nodded to his gallery manager, Brad Bell, as he headed straight for his private office on the second floor. After he left Isaac’s loft, he had called to have the gallery truck go to the loft to carefully package and transport all of the canvases back to the gallery for processing. He was reluctant to have the truck handle the three paintings that Isaac gave him, but he had no other way of moving the pieces across town.

He sank into his leather chair and fell back, staring up at the white ceiling. He couldn’t stop seeing the paintings – the images were burned in his brain now, not that he didn’t have enough images of a certain brown haired young man to start with. But God, seeing the images on the canvas was startling and…

He ran a hand down the front of his pants, his cock throbbing.

“Adam.”

“Shit,” he whispered, sitting up straight in his chair, hands on his desk. “Yeah, come in.”

He watched as Brad sauntered into his office, his eyebrow raised. “I take it you had a good visit with Mendez?”

Adam made a face and flipped open his laptop, booting it up. “Yeah. Seven new canvases. I’m thinking they’ll all get grabbed for private collections.”

“I can’t wait to see his new work if it’s got you all frazzled like this,” Brad commented, sitting down across from Adam, looking at him with hawk eyes.

“I’m not frazzled,” he said, pouting slightly. Brad ignored him.

“How do you want me to set the sale price?”

“Isaac’s work is valued twice the original selling price; so double it on the larger pieces,” he said, mulling it over. “Two million for the largest canvases; one-point-five million for the smaller ones.”

“And the commission stays the same for the gallery?”

“Yeah.” He turned in his chair. “We’re not greedy assholes.”

Brad grinned. “Speak for yourself. Prada’s new fall line is to die for.” He paused for a moment. “So, you going to tell me the truth or play hard to get?”

Adam really didn’t know why he bothered. Brad knew him better than most people; he was one of the first people Adam had loved and now they were friends, like brothers, and business partners. He could never hide anything from Brad anyway – but for some reason, the trio of paintings felt like a _secret_ and he didn’t want to share it with Brad or anyone else.

He snorted, rolling his eyes. “What’re you talking about?”

“Baby, you forget that I know you used to be a tall, chunky redhead before you went all tall, dark and sexy and that means that I can see you blushing like a little girl,” Brad said, narrowing his eyes. “Who turned you on?”

Adam hated that Brad could read him. He tapped in his password. “No one. It’s nothing; just a physical reaction.”

Brad laughed. “That’s no physical reaction; you’re hard for _someone_. Who is it? Is it Mendez? He doesn’t play in the Village.”

“It’s not Isaac,” he said, snorting. “He’s still pining for Simone.”

“Well, we’re all pining for someone, aren’t we?” Brad drawled, giving Adam a pointed look.

“Aren’t you supposed to be downstairs finding customers?”

Brad stood up and winked at Adam. “Like taking candy from a baby. You might as well tell me what’s going on because I’ll figure it out anyway. Think about it, sweetie.”

Adam grinned, shaking his head. “Punk.”

Brad blew him a kiss as he left Adam’s office. He popped back in and smiled. “Oh, by the way, Kris called and asked what you wanted for dinner tonight.”

“Thanks,” he said, staring at his keyboard. He looked up to see Brad staring at him, his face neutral, and watched him leave the office in silence.

That was never a good sign.

Adam leaned back in his chair and folded his hands on his stomach, a small grin on his lips. Kris Allen was staying with him for a couple of months, just until he got around to finding a place to live. He finally decided to move to Manhattan after living in Los Angeles for three years, ever since he won _American Idol_ and went on to record three albums. Adam still teased him mercilessly about his time on Idol, but he was proud of Kris for winning and for pursuing his dream.

His cell phone buzzed and he reached into his suit pocket, pulling it out to read the text from Drake.

 _ETA 5 minutes._

Adam took a deep, calming breath. The gallery truck was almost there; probably just a block or two away.

He sent a text reply: _We’ll be ready to meet you._

It surprised him that he was nervous – mainly because Drake and Tommy would’ve seen the paintings that Isaac gave him. There was no way that they would’ve missed that it was Adam in those paintings.

And that the brown haired lover was Kris Allen.

***

 **Trump Tower**

Adam walked into his apartment, the sound of guitar chords banging it out greeting him. He dropped his keys on the marble table near the door and walked into the open space of the living room to see Kris standing by the picture windows overlooking Central Park, playing the guitar and wiggling his cute ass. Adam grinned, leaning his hip against the back of the black leather sectional, watching as Kris sang the chorus for _Third Eye Blind’s “Jumper”_.

The tone of his voice was warm – Brad said it was “emo” but Adam disagreed and thought that Kris’s voice was subtle and honeyed; it wasn’t smooth or perfect, which was why his music was so lovely to listen to; but there was a sense of “something” there, something meaningful and relevant.

 _“I wish you would step back from that ledge my friend; you could cut ties with all the lies that you’ve been living in; and if you do not want to see me again I would understand, I would understand—“_

He leaned down on the couch and realized that this was where he had bent Kris over in the painting. His hard on was sudden and surprising. He gasped and bit off a moan. Kris turned around and smiled, blushing slightly at being caught shaking his behind.

“Adam! Hey…”

Adam grinned, shifting his jacket so that Kris wouldn’t notice his hard on. “Hey, that sounded good.”

“I just like that song,” he said, pulling the guitar strap off his shoulder and setting the guitar on its stand. “So, how was work, dear?”

He rolled his eyes. “Looked at pretty paintings and made a lot of money in commissions. How was your day, sweetheart?”

Kris laughed, dropping on his back on the sectional cushions. Adam looked down at him, clamping down the instinct to fall on top of Kris, hold him down, and slide his hands under the soft looking gray tee-shirt to pinch and bite at his nipples. He really needed to get control over this; he had made it three years without making an ass of himself and he wasn’t about to start now, even with those erotic images playing havoc with his self-control.

“Dude, I got to be honest, but I really don’t want to try and find a place to live in this city. I’m totally intimidated,” Kris said, making a face.

“You know you are more than welcomed to just stay here for as long as you like. I’ve got plenty of room,” he said, nodding. “The guest room is yours for as long as you want it.”

“Come on, man, I’m going to totally cramp your style.”

Adam gave Kris a long look and raised his eyebrow. “I have a two-floor, four-bedroom corner penthouse in Trump Tower. If your plaid shirts don’t cramp my style, I doubt having you stay here indefinitely will be a bother.”

“Thanks. Thank you, Adam,” Kris said, reaching up to grab Adam’s knee, giving it an affectionate squeeze. “I don’t want to overstay my welcome so if I start getting on your last nerves, I want you to tell me. I need a best friend more than I need a place to live. I’m more than happy to move into a hotel and take advantage of the 24-hour hotel service.”

Adam chuckled. “You got a deal.” He rubbed his hand over the back of Kris’s hand. “You know, all that touring and living out of hotels spoiled you rotten.”

“Pretty much,” he said, leaning back and tucking his arm behind his head. His brown eyes scrunched up as he smiled. “I think that’s why people want to be rock stars – nothing beats all that catering, you know? So, what’s for dinner?”

“Well, if Mr Rock Star wants his dinner, he will get off his lazy ass and get into the kitchen to help me make it.”

“Yay! Food!” Kris cheered happily, sitting up quickly and getting to his feet. “So what’re we having?”

“Meatloaf.”

 _“Again?”_

Adam glared at him and Kris laughed, covering his mouth with his hands.

“I mean, I love it!”

He smacked Kris on the ass as he got off the back of the sectional, heading up the stairs to his bedroom on the second floor. Kris took one of the smaller bedrooms on the main floor because it had its own bathroom suite. Adam heard Kris singing to himself as he walked into the kitchen. He sighed when he came into his bedroom. He needed to fucking jerk off or something; there was just too much tension and every single thing Kris did was driving him a little crazy. He stripped out of his suit and the rest of his clothes quickly, opting for a shower so he could jerk off, just imagining what it would be like to take Kris over the back of his couch, one hand holding Kris’s wrists behind his back, imagining the kind of sounds that Kris would make if Adam slammed his hard cock into his sweet, tight ass, the kind of things that Kris would beg for – _ohhhh fuck_! Adam groaned, squeezing his eyes hard as he came, his fingers fisting around the head and stroking himself off fast. He pulled his hand away, leaning his shoulder against the warmed tiles of his shower to catch his breath.

He ducked under the hot water, letting it wash him clean, letting it soothe his nerves until he was ready to hang out with Kris, fighting to keep some kind of distance. It was a losing battle, though, because Kris obviously had no qualms about cuddling right into his personal space and _demanding_ affection from Adam.

And Adam, of course, never withheld affection from Kris. He didn’t know how.

***

 **Isaac Mendez’s Reed Street Loft**

Adam knew he was kind of overbearing but he thought that if he didn’t check in on Isaac at least once a week, he would walk into the loft one day and see his friend dead on the floor from a heroin overdose. He was happy to see Isaac working; when he was inspired and the creativity flowed, Isaac never went for Junk. Adam understood that for artists, especially those who were dependent on chemicals, that sobriety wasn’t a desired effect. Sobriety was bland and boring compared to being high. And while Isaac promised to never take it too far, Adam didn’t trust him and he didn’t know a better way to help him besides locking him up in a basement and forcing him to go cold turkey. Adam thought that was still an option.

And then there were days, like today, when Adam wished he never left Los Angeles.

“Um…this is…unexpected,” Adam murmured, looking at the painting of a pretty blonde cheerleader with her scalp cut off, brains spilling on the ground, blue eyes opened and terrified, as a shadowed male figure stood in a backlit doorway. He looked at Isaac and swallowed. “Are you…feeling all right?”

“I’m actually sober today,” he said, drinking down his water. “I saw that when I woke up this morning, freaked the fuck out, and didn’t take anything.”

Adam looked at the painting again and closed his eyes, sighing. “Isaac, I think you might have a serious problem.”

“I have a drug addiction, I know that! But that—“ he pointed at the painting. “That is not me! You know me! We’ve been friends for five years! I’m not a psychopath and I don’t have any kind of deep, dark desire to commit murder!”

He nodded, pressing his fingers against his temples. “Okay, I believe you, I do; but…I want you to put yourself back into rehab. I’m not fucking kidding. This scares the shit out of me.”

“How do you think I feel?”

Adam dropped his hands and stared at the painting, making a face. “And we are not using this in your show at my gallery.”

“You think?” Isaac grumbled, rolling his eyes. “I feel like I should rip it and burn it but…I think it’s a message.”

“From what? Your sub-conscious? And what the hell is it saying? Go out and kill some teenage girl and chop off the top of her head!” Adam shouted, clenching his hands into fists. “I fucking swear to God, Isaac, I will take you to rehab, kicking and screaming!”

“I said all right, fuck!” Isaac shouted back, getting right into Adam’s face. “I’ll fucking check myself in for 30 days! But after the goddamn show!”

Adam opened his mouth to say something and realized that he didn’t know what to say. “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” Isaac said, nodding solemnly. “I don’t want to paint shit like that anymore.”

He agreed, sitting down in the nearest chair. He couldn’t stop looking at the painting, feeling a little sick to his stomach. “Fuck.”

“Well, apparently, I painted two more canvases while I was in that—“ Isaac waved his hand at the painting of the cheerleader. “Zone or whatever the fuck I was in.”

“Jesus, am I in it?”

“Yeah,” he said, walking to two paintings facing the wall. He turned them around and Adam held his breath, a part of him didn’t want to know what Isaac painted. He looked at the floor for a moment, gathering whatever courage he had left, and looked up.

“Ohmygod.”

Adam stood up and stared at the two paintings. Thankfully, they weren’t gory or horrific, but they still brought out feelings in Adam that he tried to keep hidden. The first one had him holding Kris against the wall, his expression intense as he gazed down at Kris. But Kris was laughing, his mouth open, head tossed back. His hand was curled behind Adam’s neck. It was a lover’s embrace, fearless and full of passion. But the laugh on Kris’s face – how did Isaac capture that expression exactly?

The second painting was a bird’s eye view of Adam’s bed. Under the dark blue sheets, Adam and Kris were on their sides, Adam curled protectively behind Kris, his long arm over Kris’s hip, the other tucked under his head. The shades of blue were peaceful, sated, and gorgeous. It made Adam want to cry and he hated Isaac just a little for showing him what he couldn’t have.

“They’re so intimate,” Isaac murmured, sitting on the floor and chain smoking. He turned and looked at Adam. “I hope, with all my heart, you find the man in these paintings. I feel like he’s real, that he exists in our world, and he was meant to be yours.”

Adam swallowed down the lump in his throat, looking at the image of Kris asleep against him.

“I think these are premonitions.”

“What?” Adam whispered, looking at his friend. He was afraid that Isaac was losing his mind.

“One minute I’m fine, perfectly fine, sober and happy,” Isaac said, frowning. “And then all of a sudden, I wake up, covered in paint, and there are finished canvases all over my loft. Paintings I don’t remember starting – didn’t even think about starting. I lose time all the time. For hours. And when I wake up, I’ve finished three or four paintings. No one can paint that fast and not to this degree of detail or…perfection.”

Adam agreed; these were some of Isaac’s best works. “Do you think it’s the heroin?”

“I don’t know.”

He walked towards his friend and knelt down beside him, putting his hand on Isaac’s trembling shoulder. “Please, Isaac, _please_. You need help. I think you’re sick. I don’t care about the show, I care about your life.”

Isaac puffed on his cigarette and nodded, his mood pleasant and affable, but his expression stern and unhappy. “Yes, I am sick; sick in the head.” He started laughing. “What kind of man paints something like this? A dead girl in one and his best friend sleeping with a fantasy in another?”

Adam hugged him. He closed his eyes. Isaac smelled of menthol cigarettes, bitter drug sweat, paint thinner, and hair gel. “It’ll be okay.”

Isaac laughed, loud and unforgiving. “You don’t know that and this isn’t the end of things. I’ve seen Hell in my dreams. There’s always fire.” He pulled out of Adam’s arms and crushed the cigarette in the overflowing ashtray. “Well, what does it matter? We’re all going to be meat in the ground, right?” He waved to the two paintings. “Take them, Adam, they’re yours. Take your Kristopher with you.”

Adam stared at him. “How do you know his name?”

“I heard you say it,” he said, looking at Adam. “In my fucking head.”

***

 **The Adam Lambert Gallery**

Adam sat on the leather bench seat in his private collection room, adjacent to his office. It wasn’t a particularly large room but it held Adam’s favorites, the ones that he didn’t display in his home or anywhere else. This room was just for him, a self-indulgence to his gluttony for beauty, his greed for possessions, his vanity and his pride reflected in his career – his sins, he admitted. He estimated that the paintings, sculptures, and jewelry in the collection room was close to $40 million now. He had to move around his artwork so that he could hang and light the five paintings sequentially. He called them the Kristopher series and he knew that one painting alone would be worth several million dollars. Who wouldn’t want an original Isaac Mendez of the _Eros American Idol_?

He put them into a specific order – the first was of Kris laughing, then Kris on the dining table, then Kris bent over the back of the couch, then Kris riding him, and finally, Kris curled against him in bed.

They took over one entire long wall of his collection room and Adam sat back on the bench seat, his cock hard under his dress pants, a low thrum of want humming through his body, as he looked at the paintings, one by one, lingering on the shape of Kris’s leg in one painting, the slope of his shoulders in another. There was always something new to discover and Adam would never tire of looking for them.

“Just answer one question for me and I’ll drop it: Did you commission Isaac to paint these for you?”

Adam turned to see Brad leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed in front of his chest. He waved for Brad to come closer, moving aside on the bench seat to make room for him.

“I didn’t,” he said, softly. “Isaac said that he had a premonition and he created these paintings of me and Kris.”

Brad sighed, sadly. “He has to get off the Junk.”

“I know,” he said, nodding. “He promised to go back to rehab after the show.” Brad took a breath but Adam cut him off before he could start. “I told him that the show didn’t matter, that none of this mattered except for Isaac to get better, but he said that he’d go after the show.”

“I wasn’t going to blame you,” Brad said, putting his hand on Adam’s shoulder and squeezing tightly. “I know you don’t care about the money or all this other bullshit. I wasn’t going to say anything like that. I was just going to say that this is weird.”

“Yeah.”

“But they’re gorgeous,” he murmured, leaning against Adam. “I’m almost just a little bit jealous.”

Adam grinned, rolling his eyes. “No you’re not.”

“Baby, Kris is _living_ with you. It’s been, what, five months now? Any normal person would’ve moved into his own bachelor pad by now.”

“Kris said that he was intimidated about living in New York and getting his own place.”

Brad snorted. “Give me a break. There’s not much that intimidates Kris Allen. He’s bullshitting you.”

“What?”

“God, I can’t believe you’re this dense. He’s totally using it as an excuse to keep living with you, Adam. Hello, McFly. I don’t know why you like having so much drama in your life.”

Adam stared at him. “Ohmygod, are you fucking kidding me? **I** like having drama in _my_ life?”

Brad laughed. He moved up to kiss Adam on the cheek. “You’re sitting all by yourself in a secret room staring at a fantasy when you have the real deal at home waiting for you right now. Going home and getting that adorable Pocket Idol to admit that he wants you, probably loves you, that’s what people do. Sitting here in the dark and mentally fucking him, this is drama.”

Adam sighed, knowing that Brad was right. “What can I do—“

“He’s at home waiting for you.”

***

 **The Adam Lambert Gallery  
Three Weeks Later**

Adam watched as the glitterati of New York City’s art crowd assembled in his gallery for Isaac’s latest showing. It was the usual crowd of snobby art critics and vapid gossip hounds, pretty rich girls in their Christian Louboutin stripper heels and rich boys living off their daddy’s credit cards and driving their Maseratis, the nouveau riche rubbing elbows with long established Upper East Side families, young Asian wives acquiring million dollar artwork to hang on the walls next to their _Hello Kitty_ collectibles, and pretentious jetsetters flying into the Big Apple for the weekend to pick up a little something for their Lake Como homes. In this business, money was green and it only mattered if you had it.

In the middle of it all, Adam watched as Isaac Mendez became the toast of the art world once again. He was clean and sober, for now, and he clutched Simone Deveraux’s hand like a lifeline. Adam liked Simone, she was an up and coming art dealer with a New York pedigree and about to open her first gallery. He contemplated “giving up” Isaac to her. It was painfully obvious to him that Isaac and Simone were in love, but she was hesitant because she didn’t want to mix business with pleasure. Smart girl, he thought, sipping his champagne, keeping an ear to the overly perfumed _Grand Dame_ chattering in his ear.

The professional photographer Adam hired stopped in front of him and snapped their picture. Adam smiled beautifully and then widened his eyes, silently asking for a rescue.

“Mr Lambert, could I speak to you?”

“Of course, Ian,” he said, putting on his business voice. He smiled and turned to the woman beside him. “Meredith, would you excuse me?”

“Darling, you’ll abandon me?” She said, haughtily.

“No, never!” Adam chuckled and took her arm, pulling her gently a few steps as the photographer gave Adam an apologetic grin. “Actually, there is someone that I want you to meet.”

“Oh? I love meeting new people and you always know the best ones.”

He led her to Simone and cleared his throat softly. She turned and gave him a knowing gaze, a professional smile on her lovely face. “Adam, this is such a lovely party.”

“Thank you,” he said, settling Meredith’s hand free. “Simone, I’d like to introduce you to Meredith van Horne. Meredith, this is Simone Deveaux. She represents a number of young and up-and-coming artists. I’m sure she’ll be able to help you find some new pieces that no one has ever seen before.”

“Oh, that sounds lovely,” she said, reaching out to take Simone’s hand.

Simone gave Adam a quick and dirty look before she pulled out the charm, looking genuinely interested in Meredith. “It’s so lovely to meet you, Lady van Horne. I’ve heard that you might be interested in traditional artwork with a contemporary interpretation...”

Adam gave her a grateful smile and made his escape quickly. He was so going to give her Isaac’s future commissions. He stopped a passing waiter holding a tray of champagne and dropped off his empty glass to pick up another one, nodding his thanks. With a quick look around the room, he saw Kris with Nikki Hilton, hands tucked into his dress pants, the fabric pulled tight across his gorgeous ass. Adam smiled to himself, sipping his champagne, enjoying the view.

He remembered how Kris was always so star struck the first time he started walking the red carpets and giving on-the-spot interviews with various entertainment news channels. Whenever a celebrity came up to congratulate him, Kris would flutter his hands around and be all “ohmygod it’s you” and then promptly blush, caught in front of the cameras.

But now, Kris was all smooth southern charm and shy smiles, flirty and cute. He was still star struck at times, but he had gotten better about hiding it. Adam had received many text messages with “guess who I met” and “so-and-so told me he/she liked my single” and “George Clooney gave me his number”.

Adam had to admit that he was jealous about that last one.

Brad waved his hand to get his attention, motioning him to come over and Adam looked to see who he was with before deciding whether or not to go. Beside Brad was a distinguished looking man with a gorgeous blonde woman on his arm. Adam took a sip of his drink and moved across the room towards them, wondering what Brad wanted.

“Good evening, Senator Petrelli,” he said, smiling politely at the couple.

“Adam, I was just telling Nathan and Jessica about Isaac’s work with conceptual art and I thought you would do a much better job of showing them his latest paintings and explaining the history of conceptual art,” Brad said, giving him an evil little grin.

He held his smile and escorted the junior Senator and the woman, who was not his wife, towards two of Isaac’s best representative paintings, talking easily about conceptual art and giving anecdotal stories about Isaac and his creative process. He turned and gave Brad his best shark smile which promised pain, retribution, and possibly even dismemberment when this was over. Brad gave him a pretty look and shrugged.

An hour later, he had placed the last sold sticker discreetly on the placard next to the painting and shook hands with Nathan and Jessica, directing them to Brad to finalize the sale. He looked around the room and didn’t see Kris anywhere.

“Did he leave?” He whispered softly to Brad.

Brad flicked his eyes to the second floor and Adam nodded, smiling. It wasn’t unusual for Kris to want to leave a party and go hide out somewhere for a little while. Since he moved to New York, Kris had attended a number of parties at the gallery and knew that he had free reign to hang out in Adam’s office until Adam finally dragged him home.

Adam walked into his office, seeing the soft light coming out of his private collection room. Quietly, he walked towards the doorway and looked inside to see Kris sitting on the leather bench seat, staring wildly at the Kristopher series. He decided to stay hidden for a moment, watching Kris’s reactions to the paintings.

Kris put his hand over his mouth and blinked quickly, looking from one picture to the next and just going back and forth between the five paintings along the wall. He dropped his hand and sighed, heavily, and tucked his chin to his chest to stare at the floor. Adam wondered what was going through Kris’s mind at that moment; what he was thinking about and what he was feeling.

He watched as Kris stood up, walking slowly towards the first painting. He stood in front of it and examined it, looking at the different elements of the painting. Adam knew that Kris saw more and understood more than people expected of him. It was his way of just dealing with things. Kris was careful, but he was the kind of risk taker who went in knowing all the odds for success and failure.

Kris walked from one painting to the next, but he didn’t give anything away. His face was neutral and he wore a small hint of a smile, but nothing that told Adam how he was feeling.

He sat back down on the bench seat again and sighed, holding on to the edge and shifting his feet on the floor. “Are you just going to stand outside and look at me or are you going to come in?”

Adam startled and caught his breath. He smoothed down his hair, nervously, and walked into the room to sit beside Kris.

“I never knew you had this room. You have a pretty awesome collection,” Kris said, smiling at him. “Why didn’t you say anything about it?”

Adam shrugged. “They’re all kind of showy pieces.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I think of them as trophies.”

“So those paintings…they’re by Isaac Mendez, aren’t they?”

“You recognize his style?” Adam said, pleased.

“Actually…yeah, I do.” Kris smiled and looked at him. “I met him. He was kind of shocked to meet me. I guess I know why.”

Adam took a deep breath. “Yeah, Isaac painted them. I call them the Kristopher series.”

“Did you ask—“

“No, I didn’t ask Isaac to paint them,” he said, shrugging. “Isaac said that he saw into the future or something, but I think he did them when he was high. He must’ve seen you when you were on Idol or on TV or something and it was something in his subconscious that came out when he was on heroin.” Adam shook his head. “I was shocked when he showed them to me.”

“And you have them.”

“Well, I couldn’t let them get into the wrong hands, I mean, what with you being the American Idol and all,” he said, keeping his voice light and teasing. “It would be scandalous.”

He watched as Kris grinned, his cheeks still flushed red, and he gestured to the Kristopher series with his head. “You think of those as trophies, too?”

“Yes.” The least he could be was honest. He did consider them as trophies. “My prized ones. I moved my Monet and my Peter Blake to the other wall so that I could have them all lined up like this.”

“Huh,” Kris murmured, looking at the paintings. “You know, a part of me thinks that it’s amazing how Mendez got so much right.” He stood up and walked to the first painting, the one of Adam pinning Kris against the wall as Kris laughed. “See, this one here, I like that I’m laughing in the painting. I mean, I think it’s kind of ridiculous that sex is always this intense, staring into each other’s eyes kind of thing. It should be fun.”

Adam opened his mouth and just watched as Kris walked to the next painting.

“And this one,” he said, laughing as he turned to look at Adam. “I don’t know what Mendez is doing to my legs but I am not that flexible.” Adam snorted, rolling his eyes. “That’s our dining room table, isn’t it? Dude, we’d never be able to sit down and actually eat on the table again.”

Adam blinked. Kris said “our” dining room table.

“I like the way that your eyes are so blue and kind of glowing or sparkling or something.” He stood on his tiptoes to get a better look. “Is that glitter?” Adam swallowed, watching how Kris on his tiptoes made his legs look longer, his perky ass under his dress pants flex and tighten. Kris turned and looked at Adam. “That’s one of my favorite positions. I like it like that, from the back, held down and have to take it, have to just feel nothing but pleasure.” He grinned, turning to look at the painting again. “Either Mendez has a seriously good imagination or he watches a lot of gay porn. I just don’t know how he knew about…any of this; about me.”

Adam whimpered, squeezing his thighs together, his cock hard and throbbing. He bit his lip as Kris ran his fingers down the canvas, tracing the lines of Adam’s back. “Kris—“

“This one is really…I mean, I look like I’m about to scream,” he said, chuckling softly. “I’m not really a screamer, though.”

“Ohmygod,” Adam whispered, shaking.

“But this is the best one. It’s quiet and safe,” Kris looked up at the fifth painting, the one where Adam was spooning Kris in bed, both of them asleep. “Blue is my favorite color, you know.” Adam nodded. He knew. “And I like how you’re not crushing me or all over me. I like how real it looks.”

He turned and looked at Adam and for the first time in a long time, Adam is speechless. He just stares at Kris, his eyes moving from the spiky tips of his short hair to the wrinkles forming on the corners of his eyes, to the way that he held his body loose and still, his chest rising and falling quickly, the way that the front of his well made pants bulged slightly, his feet slightly apart. Kris took his time looking at Adam and Adam stood, letting Kris see him, feeling the weight of his stare as he looked down Adam’s body.

Adam didn’t know what this was, but he wasn’t going to lose this moment, this opening. He walked across the room to stand in front of his Kris, placed his hands gently on the side of his neck, and leaned down close to him, stopping to just breathe in the moment that he was there, that Kris wasn’t stopping him, and pressed his lips down on Kris’s mouth. It was the gentlest kiss that Adam knew how to give and he felt Kris’s lips move under his, parting slightly. He felt Kris’s breath across his cheek and the tip of his tongue moving along the line of Adam’s top lip.

He blinked, pulling back just a little bit to look into Kris’s brown eyes, pupils blown black.

“I think we should go home now,” Kris whispered, a hint of a smile on his face.

All Adam could do was nod.

***

 **Trump Tower**

Adam doesn’t remember how they made it back to their place. All he knew was that as soon as Kris unlocked the door, looking over his shoulder at Adam with that smug and knowing smile, Adam had to have him. He wasn’t in any mood to wait.

He slammed Kris against the hallway wall, pinning him with his body and looking down into his face. Kris laughed, his hands curled around Adam’s arms.

“What the fuck is so funny?” Adam hissed at him.

Kris let out a giggle, looking up at him coyly. “It’s your face, man, you look like you’re going to eat me up or something.”

Adam wanted to roll his eyes but he was feeling too…much, too powerful, too hard, too turned on. “ _I am_ , Kristopher.”

That made Kris throw back his head and laugh again. “All right. Go for it. I’m game for anythi— _hmmmmmmm_ \--

Adam knew that would shut him up. He slipped his tongue into Kris’s mouth and took everything that he wanted, loving the way that Kris just melted against him, opening his mouth, giving Adam everything. He liked it, he liked that Kris was so hot for it that he was letting Adam take him there. He stripped off Kris’s clothes and let him kick off his dress shoes and tug off his socks. Adam got naked fast, without any finesse, without a care where he was flinging his clothes. They moaned when Adam wrapped his arms around Kris, feeling him bare and hard and sweaty everywhere.

He kissed Kris and made their way further into the penthouse, banging against end tables and arm chairs – Adam was seriously going to have to redecorate their living space to make it easier for him to seduce and walk at the same time. Kris gave a little snort into the kiss and Adam pulled back, narrowing his eyes to look at him.

“Are you laughing at me?”

“No, never,” he said, brown eyes glinting with amusement.

Adam narrowed his eyes and pushed him on top of the dining room table. Kris hissed, wriggling as his back and plump ass hit the cold surface.

“Not the table! We have to eat on there!”

“I’ll buy a new one.”

“Jerk!”

Adam laughed, moving over him and covering him, holding him down and letting out a pleased groan as Kris wriggled on the table under him. He admitted that he really liked being able to manhandle Kris like this. It gave him a deep sense of thrill that when they were intimate, Kris would just give in to him.

“Adam! It’s cold!”

“Well, I guess I have to warm you up.”

“Lame, dude, real lame,” Kris said, cackling.

Adam grabbed his wrists and tugged them up over Kris’s head, pinning his hands against the table. He grabbed one of Kris’s legs under the knees and bent it back so that it was slung over one of Adam’s shoulders, the other curling high against Adam’s side. He grinned at the way that Kris’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. Before Kris could say anything, Adam slipped his other hand between their bodies and curled his fingers around Kris’s hard cock, stroking him from base to tip.

“Uhhhhhh!” Kris arched against him, arms and legs flexing and testing Adam’s hold. Adam gave a growl bore down on him with his weight, smirking at the way that Kris was so abandoned to his pleasure. “Yeah…”

“God, I want you.”

“What’s stopping you?” Kris said, licking his lips and looking up at him through slitted eyes. “Come on Adam.”

Maybe in his fantasies or maybe when Kris was more experienced, Adam would take him dry and bareback, but this wasn’t fantasy, this was real, and there was no way that Adam would do anything that would hurt Kris. He let go of Kris and got up, taking Kris’s hands and pulling him to his feet. He curled his arms around the shorter man and kissed that mouth, all wet and dirty and tongues.

He turned Kris so that he was leaning back on him and licked and sucked on Kris’s neck, hands stroking down his smooth chest to his belly, walking him to the back of the leather sectional in the living room. He bent Kris over the back and got to his knees, spreading Kris’s legs apart. He heard Kris gasp, his body tense for a moment as Adam trailed his hands down and over his ass, using his thumbs to pull his cheeks open to look at his small, pink hole.

“Are you going to— _ohhhhhhhh_!”

Adam licked him and licked him, getting his little hole so wet. He made a sound and traced around the rim as Kris writhed and jerked and wriggled against him.

“Oh my Lord, Adam!” Kris whispered, reaching back to curl his fingers into Adam’s hair. “That is so…dirty!”

Adam chuckled and spit in the hole, stiffening his tongue and pressing against his opening, slipping past the guardian muscles and flicking the tip inside. Kris mewled and thrust his hips back, nearly slamming against Adam’s nose. With a growl, Adam pushed Kris flush against the back of the sectional and pushed his tongue as deep as he could go, Kris’s flesh was warm and tight and soft against his tongue. He smelled and tasted musky and male. He closed his eyes and wrapped his lips tight over him, thrusting in and out, feeling him clench around his tongue.

Kris let out a series of whimpers, tossing and turning against the sectional. “Adam…Adam, please!”

Adam rubbed his chin on that thin piece of skin behind his balls and felt Kris’s legs tremble. He pulled away gently, licking and sucking and nipping his skin. He caught his breath and looked down at himself, his cock hard and red, slick trails of pre-come dripping down his shaft.

“Fuck. Everything is upstairs,” Adam said, groaning.

Kris chuckled against the leather, the sound muffled and soft. He raised his arm and waved towards one of the end tables. “Stashed…stashed…there.”

Adam knee-walked to the end table and opened the drawer, finding a fresh box of condoms and lube nestled inside. He looked at Kris, laughing in happy surprise. “You put supplies here? When did you do this?”

Kris hid his face against the cushion. “When I moved in.” Adam laughed, delighted. “Shut up.”

He tore open the box and grabbed the lube, hurrying back towards Kris. “Sneaky naughty boy.” He slipped on a condom and took his fill of Kris’s gorgeous ass in front of him. Without a thought, he raised his hand and gave him a light spanking. Kris rose up slightly and gasped in surprise. Adam slapped the other ass cheek and Kris sank back on the sectional, limp. He made a pleased groan. “That’s what I thought.”

“What?”

Adam flipped the top open on the lube and squeezed a large drop on his fingers. He got to his feet and pressed his fingers inside of Kris, grinning when he made a little yelp and tried to climb over the sectional. He placed a firm hand on the small of Kris’s back to hold him in place, his fingers moving into him smoothly.

“Fuck, Kris, I can’t wait.”

“Then don’t wait!”

Adam pulled his fingers from him and squeezed lube right onto the condom. He dropped it on the floor and smoothed the lube down with his fingers. He wiped the excess lube on Kris’s ass, both of them laughing softly, and he watched as the tip of his condom-covered cock squeezed inside Kris, slow and steady.

“Oh my Lord! Oh my Lord!”

Adam bit back his laugh, his hands squeezing around Kris’s small waist, and pushed his hips strongly so that he was buried inside, so goddamn tight, all the way in so that his balls pressed against Kris. He took a small step back and pulled Kris with him and took a deep breath.

He let out a shocked whine when he felt Kris’s inner muscles squeeze and release and squeeze around his cock.

“Fucker,” he hissed out as Kris laughed. He grabbed Kris’s wrists and pulled them back, anchoring his wrists at the small of his back. Kris groaned, looking over his shoulder at Adam, eyes wide with want and mouth dropping open as he let out a series of noisy moans. Adam smirked. “Yeah, that’s what—“

Kris laughed, tucking his chin against the back of the sectional, as Adam’s legs nearly gave out when he squeezed around his cock. “Yeah, that’s what _I_ thought!”

He growled and ground into him and then pulled all the way out to the tip only to slam into Kris again, rocking them both on the sectional.

Kris cried out and lurched back against him, shifting his hips so that the next time Adam moved into him, he was rubbing across his prostate. Adam bit his lip and closed his eyes, with every thrust listening to all the lovely sounds that Kris made – half grunts and muttered curses and whimpery moans. He let go of Kris’s wrists to grab his hips, fingers squeezing him tight enough to leave bruises.

He watched as Kris gripped the edge of the cushions, pushing back against Adam frantically, gasping out the same word over and over again, “yeah, yeah, yeah…”

And Adam wanted to see; he wanted to know that they were doing this. Clenching his jaw, he pulled all the way out, hands tightening on Kris’s hips.

“What—why!”

He turned Kris and they both fell to the carpet, Kris kneeling over him now. He stared up at Kris, met his glazed brown eyes, saw the look on his face that showed him that he got it, and Adam moaned, falling back against the carpet, as Kris reached behind him for Adam’s cock and sank down on him, shifting slightly on his knees, finding the right angle. He pressed his hands on Adam’s shoulders and started to sink down on him hard and fast, muscles clenching and clenching. He stared down at Adam, intense, panting loudly, moving mercilessly on him.

Adam grabbed hold of Kris’s thighs and thrust his hips up, meeting Kris’s downward strokes, and just groaning mindlessly. It had been a long time, a very long time, since he was able to just let go with someone. But Kris wasn’t just “someone” and this wasn’t just a hook up. He sucked on his bottom lip and opened his eyes, looking up to see Kris staring at him, his bangs sticking to his forehead.

He raised his knees and braced his feet on the carpet, beyond panting now – gasping for breath as he felt his entire body light up with heat and pleasure, Kris’s hot weight holding him down as he rode him hard and wet. Adam grabbed hold of Kris and arched under him, Kris holding his shoulders down, and threw his head back on the hard floor as he whimpered, straining for the pleasure that was coiling inside of his belly, just a couple more thrusts and Adam’s body froze in the air, lifting Kris high on his knees, letting out a deep, guttural sound that was part pain and part ecstasy. He shuddered and then fell back on the carpet, looking up to see Kris smirking down at him.

 _Fuck!_ “Fuck,” Adam said, groaning. “Jerk yourself off.”

Kris pushed off of Adam’s shoulders and sank back against Adam’s raised legs, grabbing hold of his knee, and curling his hand around his cock. Adam moved up to his elbows, not wanting to miss a single thing. He watched the way Kris stroked fast, rough and hard, his head thrown back, muscles straining everywhere, and a red flush moving all the way down to his belly. Adam bit down on his back teeth, the tight squeeze of Kris around his sensitive cock crossing into discomfort but he wasn’t going to stop, not now, not when Kris was so close, so close, reaching for his own pleasure, just like this.

“Come on, baby,” he murmured as Kris grunted deeply. Adam shuddered under him, feeling his cock thicken, his balls tight, and thrust his hips up as he came.

Kris rode him through it and Adam squeezed his eyes shut, everything too intense. He heard a low moan and he looked up to see and feel the moment when Kris started to come. His hand squeezed right under the head and the muscles of his ass seemed to flutter. He watched as Kris swallowed once and gasped, letting out a throaty moan that Adam thought was more of a throaty scream – _hah, he wasn’t a screamer, huh._ He watched as the come spurted and dripped over Kris’s fingers. Kris let out a pleased huff and just sank down on Adam, limp and smiling. He opened his eyes to look at Adam, lips curling into a smug smile. Drenched in sweat, breathing hard, and smug smile – Adam had never seen Kris look more gorgeous than right now.

“Jesus, come here,” Adam said, falling on his back, reaching for Kris. With a soft chuckle and a pained groan, Kris slipped off of his semi-hard cock and sank down on top of him. He wrapped his arms around Kris and pressed kisses anywhere he could reach. “Did this really happen?”

“My sore ass says yes,” Kris murmured, his teeth against Adam’s shoulder.

“Ohmygod.”

“Hmmm.”

Adam blinked at the ceiling. “OHMYGOD!”

Kris raised his head to look at him. “What is it?”

“We…we did everything that was in Isaac’s paintings!”

“Well…not everything.”

Adam stared at him like he was nuts. “Um. I’m pretty sure it was everything.”

“Nope.”

“What are you talking about?”

Kris sighed and curled against him. “My favorite painting in the series; the one where we’re in our bed and you’re curled against me, we haven’t done that one yet.”

 _Our bed_. “Our bed?”

“Yup. Our bed.” Kris yawned, giving Adam a sleepy grin. Adam held him tight and sighed, staring up at the ceiling again.

***

Kris drifted off to sleep first, which was fine by Adam because it gave him a moment to just sit on _their_ bed and look at him. He grinned to himself, his body truly exhausted. After Kris pulled him off the floor, they took a hot shower together and Adam couldn’t resist pressing Kris against the wall and having him all over again (hey, Isaac didn’t see that one). He lifted the sheets and tucked in closer against Kris, curling behind him. Kris made a soft humming sound and wiggled closer against Adam, grabbing his hand and pulling it around him, tucking it under Kris’s chin. Tomorrow, they’d have to talk and figure things out. Tomorrow, they’d have to face reality and see if they could make a relationship out of their friendship. But that was tomorrow.

For now, Adam was happy to just cuddle Kris and close his eyes and sleep.

He totally needed to send Isaac a fruit basket or something.

***

 _Somewhere in Odessa, Texas…_

A pretty blonde teenager wearing a cheerleading uniform was climbing to the top of an abandoned factory. She looked down at the video camera, the stand pointed at the ground right below her. Taking a deep breath, she jumped off the building and landed on the ground, a cloud of dust forming around her, a sickening crack of bones – all recorded dutifully by the video camera.

After a moment, the girl sat up slowly, untwisting her body, her injuries closing and fading away to night. She sighed, looking at her arms, and looked into the video camera, her face a mixture of awe and fear and confusion. She stood up and walked to the camera, turning it off.

  
The End.  



End file.
